Small Hands
by Altariel
Summary: Once a conspirator, always a conspirator. Meriadoc Brandybuck in the Houses of Healing.


**Small Hands**

" _Such is of the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere."_ Elrond, _The Council of Elrond_

For Gwynnyd

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 16_ _th_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

My dear Frodo,

Well, what a week it's been. I hardly know where to start! You'll notice for one thing that this letter is not written in my hand – in fact, I rather doubt you'll be able to read the wretched thing, given that Pippin has charge of the pen—

 _{Pay no attention to that ass Merry, cousin Frodo, I write a fair enough script and he knows it}_

The problem, you see, is with my arm. I shan't dwell on what happened here – suffice to say that one does not stab a Black Rider without taking some small hurt, and I've been rather ill as a result. Dear old Strider soon put me back on the road to health, but my arm will take a day or two yet. I'm glad I struck him, mind you, not least to pay him back for Weathertop. Mine was not the fatal blow – more of that in a bit – but one for the Shire, and most of all, one for you.

So here we are together again, Master Took and Master Brandybuck, here in Minas Tirith of all places, and Pippin is a knight of Gondor now, Frodo, if you can believe such a thing. How I laughed when I saw his helm!

 _{I look quite splendid – a true descendant of the Bullroarer – and our cousin is simply envious that his Horse Lords have nothing so fine}_

I must say I haven't seen much of Boromir's city yet. Pippin can tell you more—

 _{There's not enough to eat}_

He's had rather a time of it, truth be told, stuck here through that terrible siege and, well, I would say it's been rather a frightening time, if what he's telling me is the truth – you know, cousin, that I've always suspected him of telling tall tales—

 _{All of it true alas}_

He can tell you more about this stone city the Big People have built. So far all I've seen is the white walls of this bedroom in the Houses of Healing. I shouldn't complain. There are certainly worse places to be, not least an orc camp or the middle of a battle. Where I'm sitting now is next to the fire, and there's rather a nice hanging on the wall that you'd like, I think, with a ship and a big grey sea, and white towers – you know the sort of thing. Dear cousin, I'd give anything to have you here now, and Sam, pipes in hand, snug by the fire with Pippin and me.

Tomorrow, the healers tell me, I shall be allowed out of bed and Pippin can take me for a walk around the gardens. I shall rather enjoy having him fetch and carry for me—

 _{And I shall do it gladly – although don't tell_ _him_ _I have written that}_

But for the rest of the day I shall do what the healers tell me – which is to take my rest, eat my supper, and drink whatever noxious draughts that put before me. And I shall do all this gladly, Frodo, grateful to be here, with friends, safe for a little while at least.

Dear Frodo. I shall tuck this letter in my pack, safe and sound with the rest, in the hope that one day we shall sit together once again in the sun, laughing and marvelling at the memory of these dark days.

Your cousin,

Merry Brandybuck

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 17_ _th_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

My dear Frodo,

I've seen something more of the city now, so I'll put down my impressions because I know that Master Took will talk about nothing more than how short his rations were—

 _{There really is_ _not_ _enough to eat}_

I have only seen the gardens of these Houses, mind you, and very fair they are, if nothing to compare with Rivendell, even in winter. There's a sort of sadness about the place, I'd say – as if its best days are past. When you look closely you, you see that things are frayed, or have been mended many times, or are crumbling a little. But the stones are still standing for now, and the gardens here are full of sweet-smelling herbs, and how glad I was to sit out today in the sunshine with Pippin and Legolas and Gimli. We told each other our tales in full – you'll want to hear theirs, cousin! An army of the Dead! No sign of Gandalf, mind. He's closeted away with Strider, I think, and there's some plan afoot. I imagine we'll be last to hear.

 _Later the same day—_

Oh yes, Frodo, I met the Steward. The new Steward I should say… There hangs a tale, and I'm not sure it's mine to tell. Pippin, really, is the one to ask. He came to join us in the garden. I would have known he was Boromir's brother at once, even if Pippin hadn't said – they look so alike. Poor old Boromir. I would record my impressions of Faramir, but – well, you've met him, of course, although that was news to me – Pippin hadn't bothered to mention it. I might forgive him—

 _{It's been rather busy and I have said sorry more times than I can count}_

So you'll know he has rather a way about him, the new Steward. A way of sitting and listening that makes you want to spill your heart out to him. Very quiet, very grave, but it's clear that nothing gets past him. Yet underneath all the courtesy and the reserve there's a kindness about him, and you do want him to think well of you – I can see why Pippin went to the lengths he did on his account, and not just for Boromir's sake…

Still, it's all rather sad. His brother is dead, and his father, and both of them quickly and in rather terrible circumstances… I can't imagine being left all alone like that. If you and Pippin and Sam were all suddenly gone, in a matter of days… It's been bad enough not knowing how you've been, and so I was so grateful to the Steward for his news of you, and to hear that Sam hadn't changed one bit! (His eyes took on a twinkle when he talked about Master Gamgee.) And I could see that our tale of his brother's brave end gave him some comfort. He's not well though – there's been a wound and a fever, I gather, and it was all touch-and-go for a while… Strider seems to have had a hand in his recovery too. Still, he's stuck here with the rest of us, and I should think he's rather the sort that spends too much time thinking. I've promised Pippin I'll keep an eye on him when he's gone.

Yes, they're all off tomorrow, these friends of mine. Off to the Black Gate. And for some reason they're taking Pippin with them. You'd think they'd seize the chance to leave him behind.

 _{That's the last time I'll help you write your letters.}_

It's all rather coming to the crunch now, isn't it, Frodo? Oh my dear, Frodo, I hope you can see the stars, wherever you are, you and Sam, and know that I and Pippin and all of us are looking at the same stars, and that you are more in our thoughts than ever.

Your cousin,

Merry Brandybuck

 _Postscript_ —Yes, Pippin is off in the morning, so he won't see this. He's had a terrible time – not simply the siege, which was bad enough by all accounts, but to cap it all the old Steward, Denethor, to whom he swore his fealty, turned to madness at the end, burning himself alive. And it was only because of Pippin that he didn't take Faramir with him. I can't think how that must have been. You'll see a change in our Pippin, Frodo. He's not our fool of a Took any more. Anyway, it hardly bears thinking about. At least I can remember Théoden King with love in my heart.

Well. I am running on rather. Let me stop here, and tuck this one away, and light my pipe. Rather a sad day ahead. More partings. I wish I was well enough to go with them – Legolas and Gimli and Strider and old Gandalf. Poor Pippin. I shall miss them all terribly, and dear Pippin most of all.

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 18_ _th_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

Dear Frodo,

Well, they've gone. Seven thousand of them, off to the Black Gate, and our Pippin amongst them. I stood up here on the walls – we're rather high up here, you see – and watched them go. I even caught a glimpse of Pippin, wearing his helm and his armour, marching on Mordor with the rest. It was all rather dispiriting, I have to say, seeing them go without me, and I didn't feel myself for a while afterwards. My arm began to hurt again, and I felt rather tired and old. The sun seemed to go grey.

So you'll be glad to hear I had a friend with me – Bergil, a nice young lad, not much more than ten years old, but with good sense and a lot of kindness. They _are_ a kind people here in Gondor, for all that they're sad. And Bergil's eyes are sharp, and he didn't miss that I wasn't myself, and he soon had me back inside by the fire, and under the care of the healers. I took some food, and lay on the bed, and slept for a while, and when I woke in the mid-afternoon I felt much more myself.

Still, it's rather lonely being the only hobbit here, and while the women and the boys are good to me, they're rather busy – quite a lot of men took terrible hurts in the battle and I don't want to be always taking them from their duties. So I was glad to hear a tap on the door. And there – well, I hadn't expected this – was the Steward. He was looking much better even after only one day – the bruising on his face has gone down, and he isn't so dreadfully pale beneath it all, but he did look rather relieved to sit down when I suggested it. I'm not sure he should be out of bed yet, but I'd like to see someone try and order him back. I'm amazed he didn't drag himself into armour and down to the muster with the rest of them. I wouldn't be surprised if Strider hadn't had to order him to stay.

Well, it seems that he was feeling it too, being left behind, and he thought I might be much the same way and wouldn't mind some company. And by company – well, you've met the Ithilien Rangers, Frodo, although I gather they were rather subdued when you met them, what with the big battle with Sam's oliphaunt, and having to keep their secret refuge quiet (yes, I've had the whole story now, no thanks to Pippin) – and I doubt I've seen them at their noisiest, but even a dozen of them confined to their sick beds can muster up some songs and tales and good humour, and a very pleasant afternoon we made of it. Certainly their Captain – that's what they call him, even if he is the Steward now – looked more cheerful as a result. I should think he'll sleep a little better tonight.

After he'd gone off, I went in search of Lady Éowyn, but she was already in bed. I haven't seen her since… Well, since – and I am rather worried about her. Not just her broken arm, but all the rest of it. I shall make sure I see her in the morning.

I should stop now and rest. My arm does still ache and I see now I've written quite a lot. Another for the pile, for you to read when you return, and laugh at your foolish old cousin, and put his stories in your book. Good night, Frodo. I hope you can rest tonight too, you and dear Sam.

Your cousin,

Merry

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 19_ _th_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

Dear Frodo,

I called in on my lady this morning. Poor dear Éowyn.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you Éowyn's story, although she won't thank me for it. She's very beautiful, and she's very sad. She's like a white flower that has been out in the cold too long, or a sapling tree that has had an axe put to its branches, or… Well, I think my meaning is clear. She looked sad the first time I set eyes on her, and she's got sadder and sadder, and at last – well, it all got too much for her, so she pulled on her armour, and saddled her horse, and she rode in disguise with the Riders all the way down here to Minas Tirith. Whether she wanted death or glory I don't know. She's earned glory, that's for sure, not to mention a broken arm where the King of the Black Riders hit his mace against her shield. He didn't last much longer, I'm glad to say, and you'll be glad to hear too I should think – and all thanks to Éowyn, riding to battle when everyone said she shouldn't. But I'm not sure it's turned out to be what she wanted after all.

Her uncle – Théoden King – died in the battle, you see. But that's not the whole of it. He'd been sick, and she'd been left to care for him, while her brother (he's the king now, Éomer) rode to battle. And it seems that the king's old counsellor, Wormtongue, who was a spy of Saruman's, had made her life a misery… Oh, it doesn't bear thinking about. And then her cousin died, and her brother ended up in some dungeon or other, and she must have felt so alone… Well, old Gandalf came and cleared up that mess – you know the way he does, cousin – but I think it wasn't quite in time for Éowyn. All this had been going on for years, of course, and nobody can get better overnight…

So I tapped on the door, and when nobody answered, I went inside, and I think seeing her lying in the bed, staring at the white ceiling, is one of the saddest sights I've seen. She turned her head, and she saw me – ah, I'm glad to say that brought a smile to her face. Just a small smile, but I'd take that over the whole of old Smaug's hoard. I sat down by the bed, and took her sword arm, the one that did the job, and – oh, Frodo. It felt terribly cold. It reminded me of all that time after Weathertop, when we were so afraid for you… Anyway, I sat there and prattled on for a while, and some of my nonsense did seem to cheer her up. She was sitting up again by the time I left, but she still looked so pale and unhappy.

Well, after all that, I felt rather gloomy myself and in need of company. Bergil came past and said hullo, but he was in a hurry, and by late afternoon I was left to myself, and starting to feel rather low again. Well, as soon as that starts to happen, my arm starts to throb, so I gave myself a good shake, and went for a walk in the garden in the hope that a breath of fresh air and a sight of green would cheer me up. And it did, a little, but I soon felt tired and I went back to my room.

I had hoped that the Steward might come past again, but as the evening drew on, and there was no tap at the door, I knew he must have had other business. And, indeed, when Ioreth (one of the women here) came to close the curtains and turn down the bed, she said that Lord Faramir had been with the Marshal of the Riders and Húrin of the Keys for much of the day and the Warden had had some rather stern words with him as a result seeing as how the Steward wasn't supposed to be out of bed, never mind paying visits to bedridden Rangers and certainly not trying to take up his office and prepare the city for yet another siege as if the last one hadn't been bad enough but some men simply won't be told and now he's worn himself out and had to go to bed early (yes, that is how she talks, and she said a great deal more, Frodo, but I can't remember most of that because I'm ashamed to say that you do start to _drift off_ after a while…) but he sent his apologies that he had not had time to call today and, oh yes, he had sent some books and that wasn't all although she wasn't too sure if this was allowed but then he _is_ the Steward now…

So, thanks to the Steward (I said these grave men of Gondor are kind) I am tucked up in bed with not only books for company, but a nice little bottle of brandy, and that has gone some way to cheering me up. But even so, I do feel rather lonely, and worse, rather sad when I think of my lady, and I think it will take a while to fall asleep tonight…

Dear Frodo. If I could send these comforts to you, I would. Bless you, my dear cousin.

Your Merry

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 20_ _th_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

Dear Frodo,

The House is all abuzz today with the news that the Lady Éowyn against orders rose this morning from her bed, marched down to the Warden, and demanded to be taken to the Steward. One or two of the women have been quizzing me about her – and I can see they don't entirely approve. Well, I know that she can be sharp, and I know that she's very unhappy, and I'm sure they only had their Steward's interests at heart, but I will not hear a word said against my lady. I'm afraid I was rather cross with them. I shall have to say sorry later.

After lunch (Pippin is right – there's not that much to eat here, but they're doing their best under difficult circumstances), I went to look for Éowyn, but her room was empty. I mean that – empty. The bed stripped and the door wide open, all ready for a new patient. That gave me something of a shock at first (you can't help but think the worst, these days), but I soon came to my senses and realised she had simply moved. I didn't get to the bottom of where before Bergil came dashing up, saying that the Steward had asked to see me, and he led me to his room.

Well, this turned out to be some distance away from we ordinary folk, down a long passage, and round a bit, then round again and through a little courtyard. And then when you get there it's not much bigger than anyone else's, and you have to wonder why they've put him all the way out here by himself. I know he's important, but surely he could do with company like the rest of us? It must get very quiet down here, in the middle of the night. I know I like to hear others around me when I wake up – and I can guarantee he's waking up like the rest of us. Pippin told me about his brushes with the Black Captain, and you don't shake that off in a hurry.

His room is rather a mess – books and papers everywhere, not all of which I am sure the Warden would approve of – but he pushed some papers from a chair onto the floor, and then there was room for me to sit down. He sat down opposite. I thought he was looking even better today, not as pale and drawn – and despite what Ioreth had said about him working too hard yesterday – so perhaps he'd had a good night's sleep after all. Still, he looked glad to sit down himself, and he still has a sort of exhausted air about him, as if he might suddenly topple over. But he smiled at me, and his eyes were kind.

I'd guessed already he had something particular on his mind, and I had a fairly good idea what. I'm no fool, cousin, on account of being a Brandybuck and not a Took. And, if the truth be told, I was happy to tell him everything I knew. They seemed rather a pair to me, you see, the White Lady and the Captain of Gondor – both sorely hurt, of course, and both sad about losing loved ones. And, more than that, both left behind here, when they'd rather have gone with everyone else. Well, I know how that feels. High-ranking too. I wouldn't like to be one of these lords or ladies, cousin Frodo. Always having to show your best face to the world and look strong so that everyone around you doesn't falter. Nobody minds if a Halfling gets weepy; in fact, they're always very kind.

Well, it seemed to me that Éowyn at least could do with somebody on her side, somebody who really understood, and as for the Steward… Well, there are some people who do best when they're looking out for others. They don't seem to know what to do when they've only got themselves to care about. The Steward seems to me to be one of those. So I told him everything I knew. When I was done, he sat in silence for a while, chin in hand, and his eyes went very narrow and very sharp. It was as if you could see his brain working. After a while, he smiled, and stood up, and said, "I've been sitting too long. Shall we walk in the garden?"

So off we went. We kept on talking, but every so often I saw that he was looking towards the House. We sat on a bench, and someone brought our supper out – he's not eating any better than the rest of us, the Steward, I noticed – and I started on some tales about our travels. Oh, Frodo, how Bombadil made him laugh. They don't laugh anywhere near enough, these men of Gondor. Not even Strider, not really, although I think he could, more than any of us, if the mood took him.

So that was a pleasant evening. But soon I started to feel sleepy. The Steward walked me back inside, and, at the door to my room, he put his hand upon his heart (that's how they salute around here), and bowed, and thanked me for my company – well, it was truly no hardship. I think I'll sleep well tonight, dear cousin, but I didn't like to think of the Steward, walking all the way back across the House to his room, stuck out there all by himself with nobody to call on when the nightmares come.

Good night, dear Frodo.

Merry

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 21_ _st_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

Dear Frodo,

I woke up this morning, and it seemed my brain too had been at work during the night, because I had come up with a plan. After breakfast, I sat by the window and waited until I saw that the Steward had gone out to walk around the garden, and then I went across to my lady's room. She was sitting up, and she was dressed, and I asked her if she'd like to get a breath of fresh air. She said she might as well, and so down we went towards the garden. On the steps, I patted my pockets (I hope I didn't make too much of this) and said that I must have forgotten my pipe, and that I should have to go back and find it. But if she could go and find us a nice spot in the sun, then I would come back and join her.

Well, of course I stayed in my room, peering out of the window, and sure enough the Steward soon spotted her, and called to her to join him. All going quite according to plan. I lay down on the bed, lit my pipe, and started on one of the books that the Steward had given me. I did wander down into the garden around noon, where they were still sitting together under the shade of a tree. I pretended I'd had something of a turn, which was why I hadn't come back – I felt rather bad about this, because they both jumped up and began to make something of a fuss of me, so I had to insist that I'd be quite well once I'd had my lunch. They both watched me worriedly while we ate, and at last I made a great show of feeling tired, and said I was going to lie down again for a while. So I trotted back off to my room, to watch from the window.

Oh Frodo, I could have cried. There was Ioreth, talking away to them, like my great-aunt Amaranth who, as you will recall, Frodo, could jaw the hind leg off a pony. And of course the Steward was being achingly polite, and was smiling and nodding as if he was listening to every word, although I could see that Éowyn was near her limit. I poked my head out of the door, and whistled up Bergil, and said, "Lad, if you can get Mistress Ioreth back into the House within the next five minutes, I'll give you a sip of my brandy." And the next thing I knew the lad was running through the garden crying, "Mistress Ioreth! Mistress Ioreth! The cat has got into the pantry!" and off she dashed back into the house, leaving the Steward and my lady in peace. As she ran off, Éowyn watched her go, but the Steward was looking at Éowyn, and when I saw his face, looking at her, I knew at once that I had to do everything in my power to put these two next to each other as much as my strength and my wit and Ioreth allowed.

What a day, dear Frodo! I am quite exhausted from all this effort. Sleep well, dear cousin, wherever you are.

Merry

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 22_ _nd_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

Dear Frodo,

I am glad to say that there was a little colour in my lady's face this morning. We went out into the garden together (I was not quite sure what I was going to mislay today) – but there was no sign of the Steward. When Bergil came past, I called him over but he hadn't seen the Steward either. And the Warden too, when I popped my head around this door, had not had a sight of him. The morning was wearing on by now, and I was getting quite worried, and my lady too had a rather anxious air about her.

Well, he hadn't fallen down the stairs or tripped over a parapet or collapsed from exhaustion, but he had been breaking rules. When the Warden found him in his room, Elfhelm the Marshal was there, and Húrin of the Keys, and one or two others, all poring over maps – quite forbidden, of course, given the Steward's health. I heard from one of the women that the Warden quite blew his top, and sent all those important men packing. Anyway, whatever the truth of it, a little before lunch the Steward appeared in the garden, looking rather shamefaced, and when he sat down beside us he said, "I have not been in this much trouble since Father caught me and my brother at the brandy." He was smiling, by the way, even when talking about his father and brother, and then – oh Frodo! My lady laughed. She laughed out loud and I could have wept for joy.

Of course, I left them as soon as I decently could, and hurried off in search of Bergil. "Go to the Steward's room," I said, "and hide those maps. I'm not having him distracted… I mean, he'll make himself ill again." Bergil to his credit did look rather worried at the idea of pilfering from the Lord of Gondor's bedroom, but I knew his price, and he was soon on his way. I met him in my room – he dashed in, his arms overflowing with the wretched things, and we stuffed them in a chest and piled blankets on top. That should do the trick.

I am in bed now, Frodo. I shall sleep well tonight, content with my day's work. Goodnight, dear cousin.

Merry

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 23_ _rd_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

Dear Frodo,

One day I shall write down the story of how Bergil, Ioreth and I prevented thirteen Ithilien Rangers from smuggling their Captain out of the Houses of Healing and down to the _Seven Stars_ tavern on the third level, but today is not this day. Well meant, I am sure, but not in the least helpful. I am quite worn out. Suffice to say he and the lady have instead spent the whole evening together in the garden. Good night and may Elbereth's stars shine upon you.

Your dear Merry

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 24_ _th_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

Dear Frodo,

I had something of a shock this morning. I was finishing my breakfast, when there was a tap at the door, and the Steward came in. He closed the door behind him, leaned back against it, folded his arms, and _glared_ at me. Frodo, I can see now why people jumped when his father looked their way. And this is knowing how kindly the Steward is… Those eyes! "Well," he said. "Master Meriadoc."

I would like to think I looked the picture of innocence. "How may I help you, Lord Faramir?" I said.

He looked back over his shoulder. I'm not sure why – these doors are very well-made. "I understand that Bergil has been running private errands for you."

I didn't reply. But – my dear Frodo! I shouldn't like to be on the receiving end of too many questions from this man. "Bergil is a most obliging lad," I said. "He's been very kind to me."

"Good," said the Steward. He pushed himself up from the door, and handed me a piece of paper. "Then he may run an errand for me. I, you understand, am all but a prisoner in these halls, and I fear I am being watched. All lines of communication with the world beyond these walls have been cut off." His mouth twitched. He handed me a piece of paper. "Bergil is to take this message to my home where he should wait to receive a parcel. Then he may return here with that parcel, and bring it straight to me."

Well, of course, he could have given the message to Bergil himself. But I think he wanted to make plain that he knew what I had been up to. He doesn't miss a trick, the Steward. Strider's lucky to have him. I knew, later, what the errand had been. She looked ravishing in that mantle, her long golden hair spread out across the blue cloth, and all the stars glittering. I stood on the steps of the garden, watching them walk together, and my heart sang with happiness. I have never seen a man so much in love – and she… Well. She was starting to lean towards him.

I heard steps beside me, and turned to see the Warden. He was trying to look stern, but his eyes were laughing. "Master Meriadoc," he said. He looked at the lord and lady, standing by the walls. "Quite the conspirator, aren't you?"

"Yes," I said. "But look how well they are together!"

He nodded his agreement. "Very well."

When I came to bed tonight, Frodo, there was another bottle of brandy on my pillow.

Dearest Frodo. I have tried to keep my spirits up since Pippin left. Nearly ten days now, and no word. The air seems heavy tonight. I am not sure any of us will sleep. I miss you. I miss you all. Take care, dear Frodo, and come back to us as quick as you can.

Cousin Merry

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 25_ _th_ _March 3019 TA / SR 1419_

My dear Frodo. My heart overflows. Dearest, dearest cousin. Dearest, dearest Sam. I hope to see you both soon…

 _Postscript—_ The house is all abuzz again. The lord and the lady were seen holding hands… and it seems he _kissed her on the brow_ … At least, that's what Ioreth says.

* * *

 _The Houses of Healing, 7_ _th_ _April 3019 TA / SR 1419_

Master Meriadoc,

How we have missed you in the House since you left for Cormallen. What joy you bring, you Halflings! The cares of the world seem lighter when you are near.

I recall that during your stay you took a particular interest in two of my charges. I am sure I am not speaking out of turn if I tell you that their story has come to a most satisfactory – and public! – conclusion. I have no doubt you will be hearing more soon.

With love and respect,

Master Eradan, Warden of the Houses of Healing

* * *

 _Altariel, 18_ _th_ _September 2018_


End file.
